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BY 



ADAM.KASSIMER 



RICHARD G. BADGER 

THEGORHAM PRESS 
BOSTON 
IQ06 






Copyright, 1905, by Ada M. Kassimer. 
All Rights Reserved. 



UBRARY of C0N6RESS 
Two QoDies Received 



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Printed at 

The G or ham Press, 

Boston, U. S. A. 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

To Erato 7 

In Dream .' 8 

The Dark 15 

My Dreamland Flower 17 

Vego 18 

The Birth of Tulips 19 

A Day Agone 20 

/ Am Glad of Life! 22 

The Golden River ... , 25 

White Violet 26 

Contrast 2y 

The Proof 28 

The Wood Nymph 29 

United > 31 

The Lotus 32 

Venus 33 

My Ship 35 

What Are You Like? 36 

Love's Ingle Side 37 

Emotion . 38 

Agone and Now 39 



I 

DEDICATE 

THIS LITTLE BOOK 

TO 

MY FRIEND, 

WINIFRED M. CRAWFORD. 

Come, give thy hand 

And go with me 

Across the land. 

Across the sea, 
Up, upward past all things terrene — 
Thy Lord I'll be and thee my Queen. 

Here's Fancy's Bridge 

That spans the stream. 

Look toward the ridge! 

The Land of Dream ! 
Ah, how the worries fall away 
When we have reached the Land of Lay. 

(Wilt cross the stream 
With me IN DREAM?) 



TO ERATO: 

Lead me to thy sea! 

Evoke the songs that He 

Prisoned in thy pink shells 

That I may tune my lyre 

To their sweet cadence for my love. 



IN DREAM 

I 

The wind blew snow and sadness in his face, 
As wearily the homeward path he trod ; 
His back was tired from the toiler's rod, 
His brow was frowning and a heavy trace 
Of sternness wrapped him 'round, and yet, a 

grace 
Of woman's tenderness spoke in each nod 
With which he greeted men as on he plod ; 
Then at his door he lingered for a space: 

Tis home and yet no light of cheer doth shine, 
None waits within with merry, welcome eyes, 
No woman's voice, no laughing children's 

tone, 
No succor for a weary heart is mine! 
I am as much at home beneath these skies 
As here within, — alas, I am alone !" 



II 

A pipe hung idly in his tired hand 

And rocked he to and fro into the night ; 

He gazed into the open fire's Hght 

And yet his thoughts were in the Shadow Land. 

Back there a sunburned laddie dug the sand 

And sea-mews caught his laughter in their 
flight 

And sky stooped down to kiss his eyes so 
bright 

And life was playtime's hours — the world, the 
strand. 
And then he saw a laddie larger grown 
Quick at his task of learning, eager bound 
To cope with wisdom and to man his soul 
For life's brisk battle, and a manhood own 
That should a vict'ry gain that none had found, 
That should walk proudly, kingly to the goal. 



Ill 

All through his revery there danced a face, 
A golden head and dimpled hands, and eyes 
That gleamed with laughter like the summer 

skies, — 
Then grew they proud, and shyness, sweetness, 

grace 
Draped 'round her form and childhood did 
efface. 

Yet nearer, sweeter, dearer did arise 

A woman's face that seemed to wear dis- 
guise — 

The eyes spoke love yet lips bore not a trace . . 

A blast of wind broke fiercely on the pane, 
Then shrieked around the house as though in 

quest 
Of some frail object to appease its wrath ; 
Ofif with a moan and swiftly down the lane 
Abearing like a demon that dream-guest, 
Then back again to glean the aftermath. 



IV 

But lo, the host in quiet slumber la}^ 
And heard not wind nor felt the fire's glow. 
A stranger dream, and yet more soft and low, 
More sweet, more real, so happily did play 
A soothing- lullaby from off some bay 
Where summer murmured in the water's flow, 
Where Joy and Laughter in a skiff did row 
And ships of Plenty anchored in the quay. 

The night grew still, the snow came gently down 
And lay a whitened silence over all; 
The peaceful breathing of the resting one. 
The embers flick'ring bright then burning down. 
The patient clock that hung upon the wall, 
Kept v/atch and faithful till the dream was done. 



V 

The sun shone dazzling on the crispy snow, 
The wind raced wildly with a hungry cry, 
The toiler hurried onward; with a sigh 
He thought how swift the dreams did come and 

go- 
But at his task that day a voice breathed low 
And quick a flash of light crept in his eyes ; 
A door was closed; ambition bid him rise; 
His tools he firmly grasped, — the dream must 

go- 

Another year did find a laurel wreath 
Upon his head ; his face was calm and youth 
Came back to claim his form. At last 
Around his secret flow'r had grown a sheath 
And worldly eyes that mocked, now saw a truth. 
(The noblest work is born from passion's past.) 



VI 

Alone a woman walks through moonlit fields ; 
A plaintive melody, thougli sweet, doth fill 
The night and echoes through her heart-strings 

thrill 
Recalling half-forgotten dreams ; she yields 
To some lost feeling 'gainst her thought and 

will: 
Back to a dream-shore, where a taunting rill, 
A face! . . . and naught the husband, baby 

shields. 
Who wait with loving eyes across the fields — 

A whip-poor-will cried sadly to its mate, 
A sigh effused, a kiss went to the skies. 
Dismissing wayward thoughts, she reached the 

door. 
A trusting love, the choicest gift of Fate, 
Was here for her, a pair of baby eyes, 
God's seal of love. (Should dreams come ever- 
more ?) 



VII 

What pow'r have we to stop the river's flow, 
Or blast the bloom of Nature's w^ldwood flow'rs, 
Or still the songs of birds, cease April show'rs, 
Or bid the wind be still or bid it blow? 
What pow'r have we to quell the passion's glow, 
Or kill the pain that rises from its death. 
Or silence sighs, or stifle with a breath 
A love born pure? — Receive, endure is all we 
know! 

And dreams are blossoms born in Shadow Lands, 
Their perfume, like a wine, elates the mind; 
Much anguish do they bring but joys redeem 
The pain when to our lips do press ghost-hands 
These flow'rs; then grief is sweet and tears are 

kind. 
Dear Dreams! What pow'r have we. to will in 

dream ? 

When Fair Daphne 

With Southern smiles 

Presents her amethysts and emeralds, 

I shall send them, in the casket 

Of my love to thee! 



THE DARK 

The Dark wears a mystery-mantle 
As she passes along the sky — 
A secret she holds in her bosom 
For the forests do echo her sigh. 

She gathers the worldly sorrows 

And she loads them into her pack, 

But the morning seems restless without them, 

She is bidden to give them all back. 

Perhaps she is sad like the mother 
Who holds to her breast through the night 
The child that is tired and sleepy 
But lets it go free with the light. 

Perhaps she doth hear the yearning, 
The calling that lips never tell. 
That souls pour forth in the darkness — 
She sooths but she never can quell. 

She would not be like her sister, 
That silent and world-dreaded Death, 
She would not grasp from the living 
Forever and ever the breath 



15 



That sobs like a lost wind from heaven 
Then flutters with childish delight, 
She would take all the moaning and crying 
Could she bear them for ere in her flight. 

And so with her unfinished mission, 
Like the tide-waves that ebb and flow, 
She follows the train of the evening 
And she dies with the morning glow. 



MY DREAMLAND FLOWER 

Love did lead me through his Dreamland 

Where a music sweet and low 
Murmured in the trembling tree-tops, 

Echoed in the river's flow^ 
In a dell of Springtime's flowers 

Where a fragrance thrilled me through 
And he pointed to Life's garlands 

And I chose and gathered you. 

(The bards of old have sung thee sweet re- 
frains — 
Some songs for gladness, some for sorrow's 

pains — 
And all have chosen finer words and thought 
Is woven 'round with dainty garlands brought 
From some dream-shore and yet they have not 

told 
The secret of my heart — that they withhold.) 



VEGA 

I know thy light! 
Thou diamond of the night! 
Thy fingers tremble on thy Harp, 
My spirit yearns for flight. 

I long to be 
Wrapped in thy melody, 
To wing past moon and silver clouds 
Far toward the North to thee. 

Fair Alpha, Queen, 
Thou leader, sweet, serene, 
Of Lyra's heavenly minstrelsy. 
Thou know'st me not, I ween. 

My lowly song 
Ne'er reached to thy throng, 
Yet love can soar beyond the stars 
For I to thee belong. 

What tender rest 
Doth fill my sighing breast 
When nightly I behold thy light! 
Ah, Vega, thou hast blest. 



THE BIRTH OF TULIPS 

Spring poured her nectar in a chalice grand 
And bade the wind to fold it in his arms 
And bear it onward to some Northern clime. 
But lo, he found a garden in a sunny land 
Where kneeled a pensive damsel and her 

charms 
Did lure him from his path; the gift sublime 
He threw aside, nor thought of Spring's desire ; 
Then through the grass sprang red and yellow 
fire. 



A DAY AGONE 

I did not know then what you'd be to me — 
The light of morning- and the glow of eve — 
What gold throughout my life you'd interweave. 
I gave my hand not carelessly but free, 
My heart told not the joy that was to be. 
The first glad moments seemed but short re- 
prieve, 
The last sweet breath, ere I should sink to grieve 
Forever in some deep, indomitable sea. 
But you have come alike the glory after strife, 
The freedom after long captivity — 
A new-born guest within my heart doth teem 
With wondrous music that doth flood my life : 
You are the true dawn of my day to be, 
The sweet reality of Elysian dream. 

(A song is not a song without you, dear. 
It is a threnody, a cruel wail, 
A sobbing pain of some lost nightingale — 
A poem singing joy brings but a tear — 
All Art is lacking when you are not near. 
I tramp in search of peace o'er hill, down dale 
And nature o'er her beauties throws a veil — 
I seem a spirit of another sphere — 
My soul is there with you, my body here. 



Yet, I have what is sweeter than a lay, 
Yes, greater than all poetry and art — 
All Nature does not with its sweetness teem^ 
I have the thought of you by night, by day 
That nestles close and warms my saddened 

heart 
And leads me from the world to you in dream.) 



I AM GLAD OF LIFE! 

I am glad of life ! I am glad of life because 
I have found the work that I love and that I am 
not distressed when my hands must do other 
work than that which I love. 

I am glad of life because I have been given 
a pair of eyes that can behold the beauties of 
Nature : the waving plumage of the ripened corn, 
the restless white caps on an unsteady sea, the 
blue distance that is more eloquent than the 
bards, the companionable grass with hosts of 
sweet-faced flowers, the trees that are sometimes 
more sheltering than my quiet room, the still 
lakes that reflect the beauty-world without as the 
eyes reflect the beauty-world within, the floating 
clouds by day and the stars by night, and the 
glories of the sinking sun. 

I am glad of Hfe because I have been given 
ears that can hear the music of the world: run- 
ning streams and rushing rivers and mighty roar- 
ing oceans, twitterings of birds and calHngs of 
wild beasts, gentle zephyrs and wailing winds, 
the laughter of joy and the sobbing of pain, and 
the voices of those I love. 



I am glad of life because I can be near men 
and women ; because I can share with them what 
happiness I have. 

I am glad of life because there are some who 
love me. 

I am glad of life because I can love. 

I am glad of life because I feel it is the 
highway which leads to the Eternal City: there 
are hills to climb but there are dales in which to 
lie down ; there are rivers to cross but the Ferry- 
man speaks kindly; there are barren lands but 
my thirsty lips find somewhere an oasis ; when 
the journey seems long, I meet a patient traveler ; 
when the night comes I can lie down and see the 
stars; and ever along with me goes a silent, un- 
seen spirit whose presence is the rest for the toil, 
the succor for the pain, the music for the harsh 
words, the happiness for the misery, the gentle- 
ness for the cruelty, the love for the hate. 

I am glad of life because it was God's Will 
that I should live. 

I am glad of Hfe! 



23 



List, at her lips there's a sighing, 

Eyes ht with fire undying. 

Breasts with emotion are heaving, 

Fingers their task idle leaving — 

Look, — ah, the ears hears a ringing — 

A song is the zephyr abringing? 

— 'Tis the sound of a foot-step a-falling, 

'Tis the music of love that is calling; 

A lad through the lane comes a-humming . . . 

Come, Stranger Eyes ! — Are you coming ? 

(I cannot write a poem, dear, 
That tells all I would say — 
A poet's words I cannot sing. 
But I can love alway. 

I cannot string a melody, 
I know no harpist's way — 
My clumsy fingers know no art. 
But I can love alway. 

My lips can press a kiss, dear one. 
My eyes can cast a ray 
Of tenderness, — my heart can tell 
A loves that lives alway.) 



24 



THE GOLDEN RIVER 

That river doth lead us to Fair Fancy's Isle, 
To glorious Dreamland, to Once-in-a-while, 
Where life is a vague, half-forgotten tale 
That sobbed in our ears like a passing gale ; 
And into the land once where kisses its gold. 
Our dreams are reality, visions unfold. 
And lo, we are crowned ! With palms in our hand 
We march to our throne, we conquer the land. 



25 



WHITE VIOLET 

Sun-down's redness through the wood 
Lingered for a space — 
Then the evening grayness veiled 
Every beauty trace. 

Black the night hung heavily — 
Trees were phantoms, tall, 
Then came silver-winged light 
From a mystic ball. 

Black and silver interlaced 
Through the trembling trees 
Kissed a white-faced Violet — 
Perfume kissed the breeze. 

Walked I through the busy streets — 
Dim my eyes and wet, 
Then a zephyr soothed my cheek — 
Sweet White Violet! 



26 



CONTRAST 

Her eyes were full of laughter, joy and fun, 
And mirth in sun-lit glances quick did run 
Across her face, and gleamed such smiles 
Of happiness, complete, of heavenly whiles ! - 
Dark eyes that looked afar in Sorrow's Vale 
And sadness welled a deep and aching tale 
And pain did sit upon the lips, the cheek — 
The wistful dreamer still the dream did seek. 



27 



THE PROOF 

The proof of Love lies in his eyes — 
Unveiled regions of the soul — 
Nor joy, nor pain does he disguise, 
He gives the black, the white, the whole. 

The proof of Love lies in his voice — 
The Fair Euterpe's instriiment — 
Echoes and chords, he makes no choice - 
Marvelous music, resonant! 

But greatest of the proofs when he 
Lost from his love and in despair. 
Does bless his sorrow, misery. 
In silence asks no better fare. 



28 



THE WOOD NYMPH 

There is a list'ning ear 

Awaits a voice to hear 

At early morn and through the sunHt hours, 

At glowing evening's tide, 

When night spreads far and wide, — 

Awaits a voice, in hearts of woodland flow'rs. 

There is a voice that calls 
From out the water- falls ; 

Wind-rustled leaves and golden-throated birds, 
And lisping, swaying grass 
Aerial songs amass. 

That lure, beseech with strangely unknown 
words. 

There is a hand that becks 

And woodland's deep it flecks 

With gorgeous greens and russet-burning 

browns, 
With cold and solemn grays, 
With whitest, shimm'ring maze, — 
Ah, dresses all in multicoloured gowns. ; 



29 



There is a heart that glows 

And bosoms sweet repose 

But placid, clear-eyed lakes reveal its soul, 

And quick its love doth speak 

To all who would it seek, 

And gives its beauties, one by one, the whole. 

Goddess of the Wood, 
Who none have yet withstood, 

Who steals all hearts and fascinates all eyes, 

1 helpless walk a-dream 
And seek thy vision's gleam 

That near me shines, then dots the starry skies ! 



UNITED 

Through all the days and nights we knew not one 
another 
Our souls were treading side by side ; 
And what one gleaned and kept that gleaned and 
kept the other 
For unknown hands across the wide. 

Each culled some bloss'ming joy, each culled 
some prickly sorrow ; 
Each rose a victor from the strife ; 
Each knew a cloudy day would bring a bright to- 
morrow ; 
Each longed for each, — a perfect life. 

A prayer, a tear, a half-forgotten hope, a listless 
going. 
And then a firm resolve to gain 
Broke through each soul alike unchained waters 
flowing 
And hand met hand and all was plain. 

What though the storm-waves hiss, what though 
the wind is shrieking. 
What though the ship has lost her way, 
Soul stands by soul, lips sweeten lips, silence is 
speaking 
Above the gale, "Love finds its way." 

31 



THE LOTUS 

Sleep is thy perfume, Lotus Flower, 
Rest lies within thy petal's fold ; 
Night is a long, sweet, shadow hour 
When thou giv'st forth thy precious gold. 

Death is so like thee, Lotus Flower — 
A sleep, a rest it too doth hold, 
Its night is one eternal hour, 
But is it sweet, ah, who has told? 

Like thee, does it forgetting bring 
And drops the worldly as a sigh? 
And through our dreams does music ring, 
And are we but Lotophagi? 



VENUS 

In faith, she hath rechristened me, 
In name, in nature, poise of head. 
Glance of eye, lips, breath and all. 
Where weakling was, where crying ugly babe 
Drank bitter food from out its mother's breast, 
Where hideous panther sprang upon its prey 
Devoured all and spurned the blood-drops 
On the ground, where wolfe stole innocence 
And bit it through and flung it to the winds. 
Where youth drank passion, as a wine, to flate 
His low desires to insult a saint, 
Where brawny arms and haired with beastly look 
Caught lovely maiden in their iron hold, — 
Where once a hell-embodied monster stood, 
There stands a man, a prince, a king 
Of tenderness, of purity, of grace. 
All passion dead and buried deep in earth 
And on the mound a saintly flower growing. 
No thought save innocence, no low desire, 
No flame shoots from the eye save 
Melted loveliness, and hands that were as tremb- 
ling reeds 



33 



That bend above a stream, lips murmur words 
That angels well might hear, arms 
Flinging forth their strength in tenderness, 
And eyes that gather naught but purity, — 
The god of Love reborn in soul of man : 
That am I now since she hath looked on me. 



34 



MY SHIP 

I know there's a ship that is saihng for me 

Somewhere on a far-off sea^ 

Though prairies and hills lie sullen between, 

I shall see its sails, I ween ; 

For a star leads it and that star leads me, 

I to the shore, my ship from the sea: 

No fate can bar my way. 

No wind my ship can stray. 

For the ship that sails for me 

Is sailing now to me. 

Though eyes are blind and ears are dull, 

I see the sails, and, in the lull 

Of life's sweet eventide, 

I hear a song across the wide, 

A song from my ship to me. 

Go on. My Heart, sail valiant. Ship, 

But one more mile, but one more dip. 

And we shall have our own. 

And we shall have our own. 



35 



WHAT ARE YOU LIKE? 

What are you like? 

My Sweet Morning Glory? 

They are your eyes, 

But they tell not the story ; 

Their radiant light is but dew of the morning, 

Yours is the light my life is adorning. 

W^hat are you like? 

My Full Summer Rose? 

They are your lips but never one knows 

The sweet of your breath, the charm of your 

speaking, — 
No wind ever knows the flush of my seeking. 

What are you Hke? 

My Dear Valley Lily? 

A hyacinth, tulip, 

A daffadowndilly? 

You're not like a flower, and yet are a flower, 

More fragrant and dear, more lasting and near, 

Than all of the flowers ablowing. 

Then all that our God will be sowing. 



36 



LOVE'S INGLE SIDE 

Come sit beside Love, lassie, 
When wind is tossing wide 
The snowflakes in his anger, — 
Come to Love's Ingle Side! 

Come sit beside Love, lassie, 
When wind does moan and ride 
Through wood and glen and prairie, - 
Come to Love's Ingle Side! 

Come, Love shall sing a song, dear. 
Whose sweetness will abide 
Forever in your heart, dear. 
Come to Love's Ingle Side! 

The moaning and the shrieking, 
The waiHng will subside, 
And you will know the rest, dear, 
Peace, by Love's Ingle Side. 

Then through the casement look, dear. 
The night, white as a bride, 
Is decked with stars, calm beauty, — 
The moon has glorified. 



37 



Come sit beside Love, lassie, 
Your hands within his hide, 
Your head rest on his bosom, 
Your home, Love's Ingle Side. 



EMOTION 

O that my body were a trembling lyre 
Whereon my soul could string its strains of fire, 
Enkindling trees, aburning fast the bars. 
Lap to the skies and ride the silver stars. 
On, onward through the night with ravage 

fraught 
Until the earth is bare and heaven is naught 
And, when the strain, that were more fire than 

sound. 
Fills every space and fiercely quakes the ground. 
When all the crime is done and God doth frown, 
I'd jeer my Fate and mangle Mercy's crown. 
If, to repent my deeds, I'd lose one sight 
Of all the glorious burnings of my flight. 



38 



AGONE AND NOW 

I lived in a castle in olden days 

Where knights lead their ladies through golden 

ways, 
Where day was a smile of a lovely maid, 
Where night was an evening of tinted shade. 
Where air was a perfume of melted bliss. 
Where life was as sweet as a long, long kiss. 

I lived in a cottage for down the vale 
Where life wore a visage then wan and pale. 
Where wind shrieked a story of cold and pain, 
Where called a sad voice from the dripping rain, 
Where day was an hour of cloudless gleam. 
Where night was a long, oh, a restless dream. 

I live in a garden where Youth might pass 
Delighting his eyes with my queenly lass. 
Where Age, hope abandoned, might rest and 

smile. 
Where life is a long, a sweet, quiet while, 
Where dreaming is day-time and dreaming is 

night, — 
I live in the Garden of Love's Delight. 



39 



Ah, Life is a mantle of fibers gold 

When she beckons the eyes of Youth to behold, 

And life is a wo,rn and a faded thing 

That covers Old Age with a careless fling; 

But Love, ah, dear Love, is a gift for ere. 

It reaches the worn, it reaches the fair, 

It dances with Youth, it solaces Age, 

It stifles a sigh and it calms a rage, 

A-laughing at Life with her threat'ning look 

And Death it never records in its book : 

Yes, Love is a knowing, a free-willed bliss, 

Atelling its story, ah, kiss by kiss. 

This song to the dreams that I dreamed of old, 
This song to the tale that was left untold. 
This song to my w^hite eglantine, my rue. 
This song to my lass, to my Dream-Come-True. 

(If you had gone away, my dear. 
Ere life had grown so fair. 
And Sorrow's eyes had seen my tear. 
Could I have borne the care? 
If you had gone away ? 

If you should go away, my dear. 
And leave this dream a sleep, 
A galling agony, a fear, 
More awful than Death's deep. 
If you should go away, — 

40 



Ah, love, you cannot go away, 
I hold too close your heart, 
'Tis woven in my own to stay 
And never will depart. 

You cannot go away.) 

I send a withered wreath to crown thee queen. 
When thou should'st have a diadem to wear 
As radiant with beauty as thy hair. 

These perished blossoms and this shriveled 

green 
Once bowed in worship to some water's sheen 
And perfume lifted to the sky as prayer. 
O'er joyed I culled them thinking they would 

bear 
A sweeter message than all else terrene. 
Ah, long I pressed them to my lips, my breast, — 
I thought my passion and their souls to blend. 
But ere I taught my heart its love to wean, 
The flow'rs were dead and I was sad, dis- 
tressed — 
So thus, dear heart, I have but love to send, 
I have but withered flow'rs to crown thee queen. 



41 



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